The Tarantula Stone

‘My daughter says that she thinks you are very pretty,’ he said.

‘Well … thank you.’ Helen leaned forward a little to catch the girl’s attention; but the blue eyes just seemed to gaze through her. ‘I said, thank you, you’re very pretty too.’ Nothing. The child’s gaze seemed to burn through Helen as if to view some distant mystery.

‘You must forgive my daughter,’ said the bearded man abruptly. ‘She rarely speaks to anyone but me. Some … mental problem. I have taken her to see all the best doctors but alas there is nothing anyone can do. Thank the lord I am here to protect her, otherwise who knows what might become of her?’ He leaned forward suddenly and placed his lips against his daughter’s ear. Helen saw quite clearly that his tongue came out, to lap suggestively inside it. The girl gave an abrupt meaningless giggle, her eyes still staring sightlessly ahead.

Helen felt a wave of revulsion. ‘I’ll get your drink,’ she announced coldly and moved quickly away.

She went back along the aisle, taking orders for drinks from various people. Huddled in a seat in the back, she found a young man sitting alone. He was a caboclo, a thin boy with a shock of thick black hair and handsome brown eyes. He was dressed rather poorly and Helen had thought when he boarded the plane that he did not look the sort who could normally afford a plane ticket. He looked rather ill at the moment, his gaunt face covered with drops of perspiration, and Helen wondered if he was feeling airsick. It was quite possible that this was his first experience of air travel.

‘Is everything all right?’ inquired Helen, in Portuguese.

The boy glanced up at her as though startled. Then he frowned and nodded curtly.

‘Sim,’ he replied.

‘Is there anything I can get you? A drink perhaps … a wet towel for your forehead?’

‘Nao.’ He shook his head and returned his gaze to the floor as though dismissing her from his thoughts. She shrugged and moved back to the narrow corridor between the tiny galley and the lavatory. You met all sorts of people aboard aeroplanes, she observed to herself as she prepared the drinks, and not always the kind you wanted to meet. That bearded man … she glanced at the flight list … Machado, his name was; there was definitely something very unpleasant about him. Still, she would be getting out of this life soon and she did not think that she would miss it overmuch. She would miss Mike, of course, for a time. But in the end, if she stayed firm, it would be no more distressing than the removal of a bad tooth. It would ache for a short while but then she would not even be aware that it was gone. She was remarkably adept at the art of healing her own wounds, simply because she’d had a lot of practise over the years. Before Mike, there had been Adam, an aide to her father at the embassy, a man several years older than her and, of course, married. Before that, there had been Tom, a plantation owner, and before him, a whole string of male disasters, not one of whom could have afforded Helen any future. Married men had been her singular passion and her greatest pitfall and, try as she might, there seemed to be no way she could shake off the obsession. The fact was that younger men had always bored her. Older men had more grace, more sensitivity, they were better lovers. Perhaps it was simply that her first stumbling attempts at high-school affairs with boys her own age had been so disastrous. A psychologist friend had once spent an entire evening trying to convince her that she subconsciously wanted to make it with her father, but the idea had seemed too ludicrous to contemplate. Her father was a pompous, overbearing, money-orientated bigot who treated his daughter as just another possession; more likely, she was trying to find a father figure whom she could find acceptable. Yes, she could buy that.

On her way back from serving the drinks, she noticed that the young boy in the last seat was heaving violently into a paper sick-bag. She stopped, meaning to comfort him, but he waved her away, presumably humiliated by his illness. Helen frowned. How like a man, she thought sadly. Caught up in senseless arrogant pride from the day they were old enough to spit. She sighed, wearied by the thought of the long, uneventful journey ahead. It was good that she was getting out of this business. She ought to have done it a long time ago.

As she came out of the galley, she saw the young man coming towards her along the aisle, his face rather pale beneath the tanned surface of his skin. Assuming he was heading for the toilet, Helen stepped back through the doorway of the galley to allow him to pass by. She was taken totally by surprise when the boy moved suddenly towards her, pushing her back out of sight with a quick shove of his hand. Helen was about to cry out in alarm, but the sound died in her throat as the black barrel of a gun was pointed unceremoniously at her face. For a moment, she was too stunned to register what was happening.

‘Is this some kind of joke?’ she asked brightly; but then she looked at the boy’s face, the grim, desperate expression on it and the wide, staring eyes that were shot through with fear, and she knew, with a terrible tightening of her stomach, that this was not meant to be funny. This was not funny at all. She seemed to lose the ability to control her breathing as she tried to stammer a question out.

‘What … uh … do you … uh … what … please?’

‘Shut up,’ he hissed fiercely; and he pushed the cold steel of the gun barrel against her throat to silence her. It felt like the touch of death and she recoiled from it instinctively, her elbow catching a metal coffee jug that stood on the counter behind her. It rolled over with a clatter and the boy threw out a hand to still it. Then he stood, the gun pushed up against Helen’s throat, while he listened intently for the sound of advancing footsteps. But nobody had heard. In the silence, the hum of the plane’s engines seemed to rise to a terrible crescendo.

Helen spoke again, more slowly this time, in a soft measured whisper. ‘Please … what is it you want? You must …’

‘I told you to shut up!’ snapped the boy. ‘I talk, you listen. I tell you what’s gonna happen, lady, you do like I tell you and you don’t get killed, understand?’ The boy was staring at her, his eyes bulging grotesquely in their sockets. There were thick beads of sweat on his forehead.

‘How old are you?’ asked Helen abruptly.

The boy ignored the question. ‘Here’s what’s gonna happen,’ he said. ‘You and me, see, we’re gonna take a walk up to where the captain sits. You’re gonna go first and I’m gonna be behind with my gun in my shirt pocket like this, see? It’s gonna be pointed straight at you, all the time and you say or do anythin’ makes me nervous and I’ll put a bullet in your back, can’t miss. And there’s five other shots here for anyone tries to get to me. You believe this I tell you?’

Helen gazed at the boy for a moment. There was not a trace of compassion in his face. She nodded. ‘I believe you,’ she said.

‘OK. Here’s the story, like in the movies, understand? You’re sorry for me, sick n’ all … gonna take me up to sit with the captain now, make me feel a whole lot better. Anybody asks you where you’re going, that’s what you tell ’em. Believe me lady, you try one thing that don’t seem right to me, I’m gonna waste you. Now, get walkin’ up there! Hurry!’

‘But why … why do you want to …?’

He jabbed the gun into her ribs. ‘I don’t have time to waste, lady. Move out, now.’

Helen moved rather unsteadily to the door. She had recovered a little from her original shock but her legs still felt like columns of rubber. She stood in the doorway for a moment, taking a deep breath and trying to steady her nerves. But another prod against her back started her on her way. She glanced back once and saw that the boy was indeed just behind her, his right hand pushed into the pocket of his baggy shirt. The boy glared at her and she turned back again, began to move slowly along between the rows of seats. The thought of a loaded gun pointed at her back filled her with unspeakable dread and she could only hope that her emotions did not show on her face. At the moment though, everybody seemed to be either asleep or engaged in conversation. Nobody so much as glanced up as she went by. The short distance to the pilot’s cabin seemed to take an eternity. At last she had the handle firmly in her grasp and was opening the door. She stepped through and the boy pushed in behind her, closing the door. The two pilots were intent on their instrument panels. They did not bother to look up.

‘I thought you were grinding that coffee grain by grain,’ yelled Mike over his shoulder. Helen stood there helplessly, willing them to look up; but it seemed a very long time before Ricardo glanced up and grinned good-naturedly.

‘Hey, who’s this you’ve brought with you?’ he inquired. Then his grin faded as he saw the gun in the boy’s hand. Mike glanced back now. His eyes widened and then narrowed to slits.

‘What the hell is this?’ he demanded angrily.

‘He pulled a gun on me, Mike,’ began Helen. ‘There was nothing I could …’

‘Shut up, lady!’ The boy motioned with the gun. ‘Move ahead of me, where I can see you.’ He licked his lips nervously and surveyed the two pilots for a moment. ‘OK, now here’s what we’re gonna do …’

‘Who the hell are you?’ interrupted Mike. ‘What’s the idea of coming in here like this?’

‘I’m about to explain that to you,’ retorted the boy. ‘Just take it easy. You do like I tell you and nobody … nobody on this plane’s gonna come to any harm. You got my word on that.’ The boy raised his left arm to mop at his clammy forehead with his sleeve. ‘Now what I want is for you to make a little change of course, OK?’

Mike frowned. ‘Oh, so that’s it. I suppose I should have realized. What are you, some kind of rebel or something? Planning to overthrow the Government?’

The boy waved a hand to silence Mike. ‘You shut up. It don’t matter what I am. All that matters is I have this gun and I will use it if I have to.’ He fished in the breast pocket of his shirt and brought out a crumpled scrap of paper. ‘These here are the map references.’

‘Map references?’ Mike stared at the boy for a moment, then turned to his co-pilot. ‘Say, you hear that, Ricardo? This guy doesn’t belong to some chicken-shit organization; he’s got some damned map references!’

Ricardo smiled feebly. ‘A professional,’ he yelled back.

‘Damned right. This kid knows exactly what he wants.’ Mike glanced down between his feet, where the stock of the sawn-off shotgun lay inviting his touch. It seemed a strange irony. Mike had always kept the thing there, all through the war and on every flight since, believing that one day something like this might happen. Now it had, he was afraid to use it with Helen in the cabin. He would have to get her out of harm’s way first. He turned back to look at the boy. ‘And supposing, sonny, I was to say to you that on no account am I going to alter this plane’s course. Then what would you say?’

The boy shrugged. He moved forward until he was standing directly behind the co-pilot’s seat. He pushed the barrel of the gun up against Ricardo’s neck and cocked the trigger. Ricardo gasped and glanced helplessly across at Mike.

‘First, I will kill this man. Then your stewardess here. And if I have to, then I will kill you.’

‘The plane won’t fly without somebody at the controls, boy,’ observed Mike. ‘What use would it be to you then?’

‘No use at all. But, see, I don’t think you will let me go that far. I don’t think you want to see your friends die. And believe me, I will kill them … if you are stupid enough to put me to the test.’

There was a long silence.

Then Ricardo spoke, his voice clumsy and guttural with fear. ‘Mike, I think the kid means it,’ he gasped.

‘I’m sure he does, Ricardo,’ Mike nodded. ‘All right, take the gun out of my co-pilot’s neck and hand him those Goddamned references. Calm down, Ricardo, nobody’s going to get hurt if I can help it. Have a look at the kid’s instructions and let’s see where he wants to take us.’ Mike glanced up at Helen. ‘You all right, honey?’

She nodded dumbly. Mike turned back to face the boy. ‘Kinda young to be pulling a hijack, aren’t you?’

The boy shrugged. ‘Old enough, senhor … and don’t go gettin’ no fancy ideas about me, because I’ve killed a lot’ve men who figured I was too young to handle this gun.’

Mike nodded. ‘Oh yes, I’ll bet you have. You speak good English for a caboclo … a college kid, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Que Diabo!’ exclaimed Ricardo suddenly. He glanced up from his charts. ‘These figures would take us way north-west of here … ain’t nothing out that way but a few savages and a hell of a lot of jungle.’ He glanced at Mike. ‘It’s Mato Grosso territory … I’m not even sure offhand if we’d have enough fuel to make it that far.’

‘You got enough fuel,’ snapped the boy. ‘You started out with eight hundred and four gallons. You keep in cruise and conserve it properly, you’ll make it with just a little in reserve.’

‘The kid’s done his homework,’ observed Mike dryly. ‘But like Ricardo says, if there’s nothing out there –’

‘There is something out there! You think I’m louco, huh? There’s an airstrip, cut out of the jungle. It’s rough but it will do to land this old crate on. I know it’s there, because I helped to build it … but if we’re going to make it there, we have to change course right now. Understand, Capitão?’

‘Yes, I understand.’

The boy stepped forward again and jabbed the gun barrel against Ricardo’s neck. ‘Now you give an order,’ he snapped at Mike. ‘And make it the right order or you’ll be scraping this guy’s head off the windscreen.’

‘All right, take it easy. Ricardo, you do like he says.’

‘And don’t try anythin’ stupid like headin’ off in another direction,’ added the boy. ‘I can read a compass pretty good.’

‘You’re a talented kid,’ said Mike sarcastically. ‘With everything you’ve got goin’ for you, I’m surprised you don’t just fly the Goddamned plane yourself.’

‘Shaddup!’ The boy watched the compass needle closely as Ricardo brought the plane around onto its new course. ‘That was a shaky turn,’ he observed when the manoeuvre was completed.

‘I don’t fly so good with a gun against my head,’ Ricardo sneered.

The boy reached up an arm to mop his forehead again. Then he glanced over at Helen. ‘Hey you! C’mere … yeah, c’mon, I ain’t gonna hurt ya.’ He grabbed her wrist as she stumbled uncertainly forward. ‘Now listen, lady, those people back there, they’re gonna start wanting drinks and things; so here’s what we’re gonna do, OK? You’re gonna go back out there like nothin’ in the world has happened, you’re gonna act like it’s just a normal flight. Anybody gets suspicious, you throw them off, see, ’cos if anybody tries to come through that door before I want them to, I’m gonna kill one of these guys.’

Helen nodded. She glanced down at Mike and he gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Do just like he says, honey. Don’t worry about a thing; it’s going to be all right.’ He reached out and squeezed her hand gently.

‘All right, all right, that’s enough.’ The boy jerked his thumb back at the exit door. ‘Get out there and remember what I told you.’ He backed slowly away from Ricardo, swinging his gun back and forth to keep both pilots covered. When his back was against the wall, he reached out his left hand and opened the door so that he was hidden behind it. Then, with an abrupt flick of his head, he signalled Helen to go out.

‘Pretty girl,’ the boy observed casually as he slipped the door’s heavy bolt into place. ‘You guys use your heads and she’ll stay that way. We don’t want to have to kill anybody, we just need the plane.’

‘I take it you’ve got fuel at this strip of yours,’ said Mike. ‘This thing won’t be much use to you without it.’

‘Sure, we got fuel.’

‘What do you want the plane for?’

‘That’s our business.’

‘Uh huh.’ Mike turned around to the boy. ‘And what about us … the passengers and the crew? You really trying to tell me that you plan to let us go after we land?’

‘Sure, why not?’

‘It just doesn’t seem very likely, that’s all. We’ll know where your base is; we’ll be able to recognize members of whatever tinpot political group you belong to. Seems to me that out there in all that jungle … well, I figure it’ll just be a case of a few more unmarked graves.’

The boy laughed harshly. ‘Well, I guess I really don’t know what the plans are about that. But I think you’d better start hoping that the people I work with are in a good mood when we arrive. Right now, all I want you to do, is fly.’ He moved across and prodded Mike roughly with the gun barrel. ‘You think you can do that?’

Mike leaned forward slightly to peer down at the stock of the shotgun tucked away between his feet. He licked his lips. ‘Oh yes,’ he murmured softly. ‘I think I can do that.’

Chapter 4

Martin was running down a long fleshy tunnel, its walls misty and ill-defined; but at the far end of it, the tarantula stone glittered enticingly, spinning around on the empty air like some mysterious alien planet. It seemed to have grown in size, as large now as a football, and within its glittering heart the spider pulsed, its body seeming to rise and fall as though it were actually breathing. He concentrated all his energy on reaching the end of the tunnel, but his actions were sluggish, his legs heavy, as though he were rooted in the thick clinging mud of a jungle stream. The harder he strove to cover the distance, the farther the end of the tunnel seemed to be.

He woke with a start and sat blinking in momentary confusion. Then he remembered and he instantly slid a hand to the inside of his shirt; with a shock of pure terror, he realized that the pouch was no longer there. He turned to speak to Claudio, but it was not the friendly Portuguese who sat beside him now; it was Agnello, his purple face wreathed in a friendly smile. He opened his mouth to speak and something came tumbling out, something fat and furry and obscene. A tarantula. It fell into his lap with a dull plopping sound and it was followed by another and another and another …

‘Jesus Christ!’ Martin opened his eyes and the back of the seat in front of him came abruptly into focus. He reached out a hand to stroke the fabric of it, anxious to reassure himself that this time he really was awake. His trembling fingers found the leather pouch against his clammy chest; and when he turned, fearfully, it was to find Claudio Ormeto sleeping peacefully beside him. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he whispered again and gave a long sigh of relief. He fumbled for his cigarettes and placed one in his mouth, which felt as dry as a desert. He leaned over and glanced back along the aisle, searching for the hostess. She came forward with an undisguised scowl on her face.

What is this charm I have? thought Martin dryly. She looks like she hates my guts.

Helen came and stood beside Martin’s seat. ‘Yes?’ she inquired mechanically; and Martin noticed that she was not even looking at him but that her eyes were fixed intently on the door to the pilot’s cabin.

‘I was wondering if I could have that drink now?’

‘Drink …?’ She seemed hardly to have registered what he had said. ‘I uh … what kind of …?’

‘Excuse me, but is there something wrong?’

She turned now to stare at him. ‘Wrong? What do you mean? Why should there be anything wrong?’

Martin shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t know. You just seem a little disturbed, somehow.’

Helen shook her head. ‘I’m tired, that’s all. I’m sorry, Mr …’

‘Martin. My name’s Martin.’

‘I’m sorry Mr Martin. Now what drink was it you wanted?’

He ordered a Scotch and soda and watched as the girl threw another intense look at the pilot’s door and then moved away. Probably had an argument with her old man. He glanced back at his sleeping companion, then at his watch. He had slept for just over an hour. He found his matches and lit the cigarette that still drooped from the corner of his mouth. When he got to Belém, he’d search out the best hotel and just climb into bed and stay there until it was time to pick up his flight to Europe. Right now, the luxury of sleeping between clean sheets in a soft double bed seemed the most incredible experience a man could wish for. Later he would think of much more imaginative pleasures.

A glass was pushed unceremoniously into his hand.

‘Er, thanks a lot.’ He gazed at the whisky. The contents were nearly slopping over the brim of the glass. There must have been nearly four shots in there. ‘Say lady, if you’re planning to send me back to sleep, you’re going the right way about it.’ He glanced up at her but she was staring apprehensively at that damned door. ‘Look, honey, what’s the matter? Is somebody in there giving you a hard time?’

She glared at him. ‘No,’ she snapped ungraciously. ‘Of course not!’ She turned and stalked away. Martin sighed.

‘If I carry on at this rate,’ he murmured to himself, ‘she’ll be wanting to marry me by the time we land.’ He chuckled and took a large swallow of his drink. It tasted warm and unpleasant, making him long for a handful of crushed ice.

He leaned across Claudio and stared out of the window. Below there was nothing but a wilderness of jungle, stretching in every direction as far as the eye could see.

What a Godforsaken place, he thought. Brazil must be the ass-hole of the world. Nothin’ down there but trees, snakes and savages … He felt suddenly very vulnerable, comparing the tiny, insect-like plane to the vast all-encompassing jungle far below.

Mike was getting desperate. The plane was fast approaching the point of no return and still the kid with the gun had not let his guard down enough for the pilots to risk jumping him. He stood just at the back of their seats, tense and watchful, swinging his gun from right to left at the merest sound from either of them, and he would question every little move they made towards the control panel. It was clear that at some time the boy had received extensive training on the subject of aircraft and it would clearly be unwise to try and hoodwink him in any way. There was only one point in Mike’s favour. The boy did not know about the shotgun tucked away by the pilot’s feet. But to have the gun there was one thing; to use it quite another. It would take several seconds to snatch the gun up, swing it around and fire – no need to aim of course, in the cramped confines of the cabin, but without some kind of diversion, it was folly to even attempt it. The boy’s gun was already aimed and he was jumpy enough to fire at the slighest movement. Besides, there was Ricardo to consider. So Mike just kept asking questions, hoping to needle the boy into making a mistake.

‘Look kid, why don’t you tell me about this organization you’re workin’ for, huh?’

‘I don’ work for no organization,’ the boy sneered.

‘Well, whatever you call it. If I’m gonna fly all this way on account of something, I figure I ought to know what it’s all about.’

‘You don’ need to know nothin’! Just keep doin’ what you’re doin’.’

Mike turned to grin at Ricardo. ‘Helpful kind of guy.’

‘Sure is.’ Ricardo fixed Mike with a curious stare, trying to transmit a silent message in his eyes. The copilot’s gaze moved rapidly across and down to the area at Mike’s feet, then came back to glare encouragingly at him. Mike stiffened, because he had recognized the message and he didn’t like it. It seemed to say: ‘I’m going to try something. Back me up.’

Mike framed the word no with his lips, but Ricardo was already starting.

‘Hey kid, listen, I gotta go take a leak, you know? It’s been ages …’ As he spoke, he began to unbuckle his safety belt, as though taking it for granted that the boy would give him permission to leave.

The gun swung across to cover him. ‘You just stay right where you are, senhor.’

‘Hey, but look, you know … we’ve been flying for over three hours. We’ve still got a long way to go. What am I supposed to do, piss in my pants?’